The Midnight Cleaning Company

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Andre and I trudged through the rain. The pavement had been reduced to puddles which concealed ruts that snagged the wheels of the stolen shopping trolley. The muscles in my back ached from dragging the giant Rogue all the way from the morgue.

Finally we reached the office and slumped against the side of one of our unmarked black vans, which I was surprised to find parked in the street. Exhausted, Andre sank to the floor while I examined the van.

"Get up!" I ordered, startling him. "This is our stolen van".

I grabbed his collar and yanked him to his feet. With a finger to my lips, I nodded to the wall by the entrance. Andre jogged clumsily to his assigned position.

I slid my key slowly into the lock and quietly edged the door ajar.

Peering inside, I came face to face with ice-blue eyes identical to mine.

"Thought you two were dead", said Charles in a nonchalant manner, as he pulled the door open further.
"We were attacked at the Mor...." started a breathless Andre.
"We know. They hit them all. This is not a case of opportunistic thieves, this was a co-ordinated attack on the Elders and the Secret", interrupted Michael.

It was evident Andre and I had walked into the middle of a conversation.

The other four Cleaners were busy dissolving the corpses of more Rogues and patching up their own wounds.

"Do you think it's going to be like last time?" John asked the others, a hint of fear in his voice.
"Let's fucking hope not" replied Michael, his slight Irish accent noticeable when he swore.

The bodies of half a dozen of the Rogues we had encountered at the Morgue were piled up next to the disposal vats, where George was searching them for anything useful before their obliteration.

"This idiot installed GPS in the vans, they used it to find us," Charles said, glaring at John.

"Why do you even need it? You've only lived in the city for forty bloody years!"
John glared back. "Everything keeps changing", he replied in an embarrassed mutter.
"Luckily we weren't downstairs when they attacked, we were up here interrogating those Rogue prisoners" said Charles, addressing me.
"We jumped them from behind as they went down the stairs and slaughtered the diluted bastards", said John.

Before Andre and I could be regaled with more graphic details of the fight, there was a series of knocks at the front door. George pulled shut the door that divides the disposal room from the rest of the ground floor, and marched over to answer the front door. The entrance was actually a door within a door. The whole wall could slide away to allow the vans through, but there was a smaller door for pedestrians.
George peered through the peep-hole and then pulled the small door open. Two middle-aged police officers stepped over the threshold and removed their hats.

"Good afternoon gents", said the taller of the two.
"Ah, PC Andrews and PC Smith. The dirtiest of all the Filth!" replied an uncharacteristically cheerful George, before clapping them both on the backs. The two police officers laughed.
It was strange hearing George talk this much at all, let alone make jokes.
"Now, we directed the attention away this morning, but we had to cover up reports of gunfire as fireworks further down the road, so it's gonna cost ya double the usual," said the smaller police officer in a friendly Cockney accent.
"No problem mate," replied George, smiling and matching the accent.
"Cuppa tea while you wait?"

"That'a be great", smiled the taller police officer.

George disappeared up the stairs for a few moments, before returning with a paper bag bulging with cash clamped under his arm, and a mug of tea in each hand.